


Human Folly

by Control_Room



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Data - Freeform, Introspection, Investigations, M/M, Murder scene, POV First Person, Patricide, death mention, putting pieces together, soft kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 04:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Walking home from a murder scene.





	Human Folly

With a sharp command to keep away from the scene, the officer shoved us off the premises.

With a slight disdain, I eyed his badge and took in his name, planning on instructing young Stanley to reprimand this officer.

A low laugh, above my head, rumbled me back to the world.

“Well, Hessiah,” my companion remarked, “This officer clearly condoned this crime. Did you catch the loathsome look in his eyes as he beheld the body?”

“My dear friend,” I chortled, rolling my own brown ones, his bright flashing greys studying me meticulously (I always felt so exposed under his attention, but as the years passed, it became a comfort rather than it’s opposite). “How can you say such a thing of a man of the law?”

“Well, for starters (he betrayed his cockney origins with such loose speech), the victim was completely vulnerable,” he calmly stated. I stared at him in disbelief, and he allowed his rare smile to escape to his lips. Many saw my friend as a vitriolic man, sharp, stern, and without love for mankind, always seeking it’s repugnant faults. However, I knew him as a man who made merry in his heart the simple folly of humans bumbling around awkwardly. “I know, my dear, that you are thinking of the revolver tucked away in the poor politician’s breast pocket, but that is a mere blind, my Hessiah. He was a harmless old fellow, faithful, loving, and loyal to the crown.”

“You are verbose today,” I replied, wry and tired of his circumlocution. “Your conclusions, as usual, contradict the police reports that this man was a vicious rebel, conniving against the royal family, and that one of his confederates turned on him and protected the empire.”

“Hessiah,” he chuckled with that air of knowing something I did not, an air I was long accustomed to. He was a buoyant and jolly man for someone who had just left the scene of a murder. He pulled me close by the means of wrapping his arm over my shoulders, using his unusual height for his advantage. “Can you not see this man’s innocence? Surely you know by now my knowledge is not based merely on notions, but data, my good friend, data. Accolations are not awarded to those with no evidence. Allow me to curate my data onto your mind.

“This man was a family man, steadfast to his wife as you can see with the cleaning of his band at least once a day, and judging by the lack of scratch marks upon it, a tender and warm love. His revolver was loaded with blanks, just a shield device. Abercott was his name, written in the lining of his cap, which he wore to prevent his ears from getting cold, this visible in the sewn on custom muffs. This Abercott was a man with a simple aesthetic, his beauty laying in his soft manner. He had been altruistic in his youth, the debonair figurehead of a the British Boy Scouts, and still indubiously held these ideals close, the patch knitted onto the back his gloves. He unabashedly supported the monarchy, with a necklace inscribed with ‘dieu et mon’, the motto of our empire. While he was not ardent, this was because of his physical weakness, walking with a limp and a cane, his right shoe worn down more than his left, and you can see it just as well in his inhaler which can be noted by the heavy usage of the left index finger. He also had been reticent, not many lines drawn over his brow though he had aged considerably. A man of strong resolve and irrevocable conviction, his tattoo of the chinese glyph of strength, a high honor amongst such people.”

“Anything else?” I asked eagerly, as a student to a master, enraptured by his ingenious words. He smiled at me, that particular smile that meaning I should state my own observations. I flushed. His methods were clean cut and rapid, and mine were sloppy and slow. He gave a light squeeze on my shoulder, a soft push. I mumbled, “Well, aside that he was a lame duck, being voted out of office a few weeks ago, a fact which I had happened to cross in a newspaper, I know absolutely nothing.”

“In retrospect, I think you know something else,” he hummed, bemused and yet touchingly concerned, his brow furrowing. “There is a detail in your eye, you know something but are forgetting its importance. Think, Hessiah… is there anything else with evidence?”

I looked up at him as we walked, dallying to our home on Baker Street, passing by roads and small side streets. One of the names caught my eye. Aber Cottage Lane.

Not the same name, I mused, mulling it over in my mind, and froze. I stopped my companion. “The officer’s name was Abercott. The one who forced us away. His son! I remember, his son had released no comment on his father’s dismissal from office, but there was his photograph!”

My friend studied me and smiled slightly, a sad smile.

“Patricide is a painful crime, is it not?” he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in his pondering of our complicated little lives. “Children can be intractable, and an argument over honor is one that fast tempers may expound upon. The poor altruist had raised a cynic, Watson. I don’t think I’ll take this case for Lestrade, if he’s quick enough he’ll catch his man. Now, let us return home and ease our legs before a warm fire and each other’s presence. How do you think of chamomile tea? I promise I won’t lace it this time with narcotics.”

“Oh, my darling Sherlock,” I leaned my head against his chest with a sigh, closing my eyes and listening to the human beat of his heart, a heart still beating despite all odds, a heart I knew and cherished. He tightened his arm over my shoulders. He grinned at me and stopped us for a moment, leaning down and twisting to kiss me with his thin lips, thin but loving and all so human. I smiled back. “That would be lovely, love.”


End file.
